Under Pressure
by tsukinoblossom
Summary: Written for a prompt on the kinkmeme: Sebastian Moran, in a fit of rage, makes Moriarty piss himself through his Westwood.


_**Warning for a very angry man, accidental watersports and the ruining of a very expensive suit. Read at your own risk.**_

_**Written for a prompt on the kinkmeme:**_

_**"Sebastian Moran, in a fit of rage, makes Moriarty piss himself through his Westwood. (By holding him down, tying him up, forcing him to drink water/caffeine, whatever.) Moran finds this hotter than he thought he would. If Moriarty can show his humiliation through sheer anger, even better (rather than being relaxed about it)."**_

_**Not the sort of thing I ever thought I'd write, but I was looking for a challenge. My first attempt at any Moriarty/Moran, and my first attempt at anything involving piss. I wasn't even sure if I was going to post this, but I accidentally replied to a comment on the prompt without logging out of LJ, so I figured why the hell not?**_

_**Also, the reason I have this tagged as "Sebastian Wilkes/Seb" and not "Sebastian Moran" is that FFnet has no proper category for Seb Moran. If you'll check, everyone who writes Moran/Moriarty is tagging this Seb as the "other" Seb, so please stop informing me I tagged the wrong Seb - I am aware, but the fault lies with this site, not with me.**_

* * *

Jim Moriarty is sitting in a plush, luxurious armchair, nursing his sixth cup of coffee of the day and reading his texts. He hasn't slept well, and the jolt of the caffeine is making him jitter unpleasantly, but at least it will help him stay awake. The sound of the front door of the flat catches his attention, and he looks up to see Sebastian glowering from the front foyer. Smoothing his expensive suit, he gets up from the chair to greet his partner and most trusted worker.

"Something wrong, Seb darling?"

At Jim's offhand tone, Moran completely loses control of his faculties. He grabs Moriarty by the lapels and slams him roughly into the ornate wallpaper.

"DID YOU KNOW?"

Jim looks unfased. "Know what? You'll have to be more specific."

"You sent me..." his voice drops to a low rumble "into a fucking trap."

"Mm, I suspected as much, it's why I didn't go myself."

"You ARSEHOLE."

Sebastian's shout is punctuated with another rough shove into the wall, and wrapping his hand tightly enough around Jim's throat to make him woozy but not tightly enough to cut off circulation completely, he lifts the smaller man right off the floor, so the toes of his highly polished shoes are dragging just across the hardwood.

"Seb, please." Jim squawks. "The suit! Please. Let me go, damn it. I have to use the facilities."

The look on Sebastian's face is one of sheer rage. "THE SUIT? FUCK THE FUCKING SUIT, JIM. THEY NEARLY MADE ME." He's shouting in earnest now, rattling Jim more than he'd like to admit. Moriarty squirms, the pressure on his throat mirrored by the pressure in his full bladder.

"Sebby, darling..." he whines, attempting to appeal to the larger man's softer side. "Put me down, let me go to the toilet, and we can discuss this like adults."

"No." Sebastian slides him further up the wall, bracing Jim's hips tightly with his free arm. It's putting even more pressure his bladder, but that's probably intentional. "I'm going to hold you here until I decide you've atoned for sending me into a nest of six fucking trained commandos who bloody KNEW I WAS COMING."

Jim trembles against the wall, whimpering. His hips buck against Sebastian's arm and his eyes roll back into his head. _Never again_, he thinks. _This much coffee will kill a man. Hm... I wonder? Could I... No, pay attention._ He shakes his head, attempting to free himself from Sebastian's angry gaze, but the man is so much larger, so much stronger, that Jim never had a chance.

"Jim, I don't think you're repentant enough..." Seb readjusts his weight, keeping Jim pinned against the wall with one shoulder and his hip before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a butterfly knife.

With one sharp THWACK, he embeds the knife in the wall, fractions of an inch away from Jim's body. The shock proves to be too much for Jim, with a yelp and an uncharacteristically ashamed groan, he loses control of his bladder, the warm wetness spreading across the front of his finely cut Westwood trousers. He whimpers again and looks Moran in the eye.

"Happy now, arsehole?"

The flush of Sebastian's cheeks, the dilation of his pupils, nothing escapes Jim's hawk-like gaze. Bowing his head in embarrassment, Sebastian gently lowers his boss to the ground.

"You filthy pervert. You did this to me on purpose, didn't you? You can't bear to be subservient, you just had to be in control, didn't you?"

Sebastian's breathing hitches as he realises Jim's stepping out of his now-ruined trousers.

"You even cut a hole in them, damn it." Moriarty glares up at Moran, his dark eyes glinting with fury. Before Sebastian has time to react, Jim has thrust the trousers up into his face, soaking him. "You like that? There you go. It's all you're ever going to get."

Fuming, he stalks out of the room with all the dignity a man with wet pants and no trousers can, leaving Sebastian aroused and confused, staring awkwardly at the damp pile of fabric in his hands.


End file.
